Never A Break
by J.A. Carlton
Summary: Oneshot... Sam and Dean face off against a menace neither of them could have predicted...


Never A Break – sn oneshot

by: sifi

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em… just wish they were mine.

Love: Very Much.

--

_I can't believe this is happening! Damnit! Aren't we EVER going to get a break!_ Dean thought feeling his lip curl into a sneer while holding his rifle to his chest and pressing his back to the wall. He glanced across the room at Sam who stood in a mirror position, met his eyes and nodded his readiness.

There was a darkened hallway separating them where their quarry had gone but that wasn't the whole of the problem. The house was one of those big turn of the century jobbies where it seemed every room led to another, which in effect turned the structure into a maze. This was bad for the hunters.

From across the front room Dean heard a low growl and watched his baby brother blush madly and shrug helplessly. He couldn't believe his ears and mouthed, "What the F…?" but Sam could only shrug again, it wasn't his fault. The kid hadn't eaten since breakfast and apparently his stomach was getting pissed about it. _Bad freakin' timing Sammy! I tell you to eat protein, I give you meat and potatoes… Freaking eggs and hashbrowns! and you stuff a bunch of rabbit food down your throat? Damnit there's a time and a place for everything, including rabbit food… and it's when you're constipated! What the hell's the matter with you salad boy? _Dean looked at him quizzically, his expression asking one simple question, 'are you done giving away our position yet?'

Sam nodded praying he was right and his stomach was done. But… he was hungry! He'd been growing in leaps and bounds and no one was more embarrassed by the copious quantities of food his body required than he was. Every penny Dean hustled, or their dad condescended to leave them before heading off on another hunt seemed to go for food. Sam outgrew his jeans, Dean sat with his pocket knife and stripped the stitching from the hem so he could get another inch or two out of them before having to spend for another pair. Dean even gave Sam a couple pairs of his own jeans knowing he'd grow into and out of them with inhuman speed, then he'd get 'em back. It was driving both of them crazy quite frankly.

_Yeah… then there was that night last week…_Sam thought and cringed inside, _swiping a fiver from your own brother cause you had a freakin' craving for nachos? Damn man, that's f-ing low! I was hungry!_ Sam thought defensively.

He caught movement out of the periphery of his vision and snapped his attention back to the moment at hand. Dean was looking at him. _God when are we gonna ever get a freakin' break/ Dad may not give a crap but Dean… he's never let me down…_he realized looking at his older brother. Birthdays, Christmas, Parent-Teacher conferences, Open houses or Opening night when he was in drama class… Dean was always there. No matter where dad was, no matter what dad was hunting, Dean was the one who showed, Dean was the one who met with his teachers, who helped him arrange to take the accelerated classes, who sat wiping his eyes and his nose when the kids squirted him with skunk stink cause he blew the bell curve… It should've been John. He knew that. But it was Dean. It was always Dean who had his back, his front, his future… his sanity. It was his big brother who made life bearable. Inside he cringed and prayed that one day his brother, who understood so much in his very nature, could understand and forgive him for what he'd done. For the college applications and essays he'd filled out. For the caving to the craving for a life that might be able to ignore all the things that went bump in the night. If anyone could understand it was Dean. If anyone would eventually forgive him… it was Dean.

Sam nodded. He was high, Dean was low… they turned in unison, their guns pointed down the darkened corridor. Dean held the flashlight and shone it down the empty hall. The door to the kitchen was the first one on the right. The guest room was the first on the left. There was a bathroom on the right and finally a stairwell to the second floor. However, behind that stairwell they both knew was the library/study which also had a door to the kitchen. All roads led back to the kitchen.

_Figures…_ Dean shrugged shaking his head, _with Sammy around everything ends up in the f-ing kitchen… boy's a damned garbage disposal… a stinking salad munching garbage disposal but damn! I mean I like my greens as well as the next guy but… damn! Sammy do us all a favor and stop growing…Yeah like that's gonna fix what's going on here? This ain't no bunny food revenge baby! This is one fully pissed off spirit…_As if to illustrate that very point Dean felt a 'whick' pass by his head and ducked out of the way as an info-mercial style chef's knife came soaring past his head and imbedded itself into the wall on the far end of the front room.

_Oh that's just great! Next time you want something normal in your life Sammy remind me to stay the hell out of it! remind me about what happens when any f-ing Winchester wants something normal! Just kill me already why don't you… Yeah,… by the way, thanks for coming dad! Thanks for sharing one of those 'special' days with us cause you know… we miss you! _he thought angrily watching the knife handle vibrate in the wall besides him. _You are soooo going down…_

He moved first down the hall, Sam close on his heels but with the arduous task of guarding the rear. He kept his eyes everywhere he could at once, in front of Dean, to his right, on the door up ahead and on the stairwell in front, just in case.

Dean motioned to the stairwell and he knew he was being deployed.

Sam went up, Dean went around, headed toward the library. _It makes as much sense as anything else… Not that I expect it to go into the library but… leave no stone unturned. When You least Expect it Expect it… and all that shit… Thanks Dad… why aren't you here? Why aren't you helping us with this? What's the matter with you? Why aren't you with your sons? Damn I love you dad but don't you get what you're doing to Sammy? I get it… I get the hunting, the need to spare folks the pain we endured, I understand dad, really… but have you ever taken the time to talk to Sam about it? Cause somehow I don't think I've gotten through to him… and you said you'd be here… you said you'd come… and you're not here…Damnit Dad…it's not right!_ he thought angrily.

He pressed the toe of his boot against the library door and pushed it open leading with his flashlight first then his gun. Motion caught his eye and he ducked just in time to feel the flutter of Le Epicure Gastronomique fly past his head then watch as a door on the right hand wall, halfway through room flapped, the light from the kitchen strobing with the motion of the swinging door.

_That's weird, you'd think it would be a lockable door… no clue why, but just would… huh, _he felt his mouth buckle curiously and moved quietly along the wall toward the door. In the kitchen he could hear glass breaking, aluminum accoutrements being cast about in some kind of rage. He was reminded of an episode, actually the final installment of a trilogy of one of his favorite television shows. This show was called Quantum Leap and centred around a man who'd found a way to time travel within his own lifetime, changing the past one person, one instance at a time. In some ways, he fancied himself a Demon Hunting Dr. Beckett, though he knew college was out of the question, and he'd never have any kind of Dr., M.D. or PhD behind his name. It didn't matter. He and Sam Beckett shared something, they helped people, made their lives better, one person, one demon, one evil at a time. This particular episode that came to mind was a three parter in which Sam was the father, the lover and the lawyer of a particular girl. In the final episode of the trilogy, it came to light that the antagonist was so distraught over events surrounding the death of her daughter that she'd torn apart the "victim"s kitchen and slashed her own throat in the hopes of getting that central character for murder… It was that image of the torn apart kitchen that Dean was thinking of when he heard things crashing, shattering and kind of exploding behind that swinging door.

_It's small… Yeah but it's got one hell of an arm! No dumbass, it can hide behind the counters! It's short stupid! Yeah… I kinda get that… how the hell can it see anything anyway? That I don't get? I mean… what the fuh…_ he ducked again, this time actually feeling the graze of one of those two pronged carving forks as it whizzed past his head and twanged from its new perch in the molding of the door jamb.

_Crap! This sux… out loud even… _another part of his mind added as he grabbed the black plastic handle of the fork and held it in the same hand as his flashlight.

"Come on you son of a bitch! Show yourself!" he challenged knowing it was far beyond fear. This s.o.b. had no inhibitions, it had no compunctions whatsoever and he found that the idea made his belly quake as if he'd eaten a whole pound of Gummi Bears…

_Oh Sht… I don't feel good man… I got freakin' Gummi Tummy and I ain't had a damned Gummi bear since… hell I think it was since freakin Halloween man! Damn, that's just not right!_ he groused inside and wondered if he'd ever be able to look another holiday in the face again.

'he he he he he he…" a malicious chuckle sounded from around the cooking island and he wondered briefly if that was possible at all given the circumstances then decided it really didn't matter. I mean after all, the son of a bitchin' thing was trying to kill him and Sam and once more he wondered if anything would be different if their dad had been there.

_I wouldn't bet on it… he'd probably be passed out in front of the tube watching one of the frakkin' games… not that any of it matters but let's face it, a bet's a bet whether it's against Jim, Caleb, Shep, Bobby or Joshua or any of the guys… or just against guys at the local bar… he'd have numbers down and be in on any pool he could get into… man… he sure knows how to play the numbers… _he thought clearly marveling at his dad's prowess when it came to gambling. Dean knew he could make a face that would stop traffic and thankfully had a decent bod to go with it just in case some lonely housewife needed a distraction, but he preferred his cons to run on the right side of morality if possible, though at the tender age of nineteen he knew enough to take what he could get.

He watched, his eyes finding and registering a heavy milk-glass bowl wafting toward his head from the far side of the cooking island.

"Alright you little son of a bitch! That's about enough out of you!" he ground out between clenched teeth watching the contents of the bowl slide over the tile flooring. "Do you have any idea how long I looked for the right recipe for that! You little piece of crap!"

He clenched his fists, feeling his fingers burning, his forearms aching as he cleaned, chopped, diced, sauteed, measured and mixed everything… and now this?

"You bastard!" he hollered and dove around the cooking island with his gun pointed, pointedly in front of him. He was ready to shoot anything at this point and angry enough to justify it, almost.

"Damn!" he cursed watching the door to the dining room swing once more as it escaped him. "Head's up Sammy!" he hollered plunging through the door.

'_Pop…pop…pop…' _he heard and stayed upright behind the kitchen door. Given the height of the son of a bitch they were trying to kill, he was much better served maintaining his full height.

"Talk to me Sam…" he called warily while pressing the door open just a couple inches with the muzzle of his gun.

"I'm fine…" Sam's voice sighed. "It's done," he said softly.

Dean slowly pushed the kitchen door open and stepped warily into the front room, his eyes scanning every possible centimeter in the dim light even as Sam stepped forward from the darkened corridor that led to the upstairs.

"It's alright… really… it's done…" Sam said softly noting the far too cautious expression on Dean's face. _Poor guy… he never gets a chance to lower his guard does he? Man I'm sorry Dean…next year it'll be different, I promise… just… dude… seriously, you gotta lighten up…_he thought and met his bit brothers' eyes.

"You sure?" Dean asked moving in the direction his brother pointed, which happened to be behind the couch.

"Yeah… Kosher salt man… you know as well as I do… works more times than not…" Sam nodded pointing to the floor with the muzzle of his shotgun.

Dean kept his own shotgun raised, the sight trained directly before him as he moved toward the sofa slowly, making sure Sam was at his back, making sure he was between his baby brother and whatever malevolence had manifested that particular evening.

Dean looked down at the carcass then up to Sam who nodded and shrugged.

"Soooo… what do we do now?" Dean asked poking the barrel of his rifle into the hole were the head once rested and lifting the torso off the floor.

"I don't man…" Sam shrugged, "… eating it seems kinda… not right y'know?"

"Well yeah… since it tried to kill us and all.." Dean scoffed, "Where'd you get it from anyway?" Dean asked sliding the barrel of his shotgun into the neck hole and lifting the carcass off the floor.

Sam shrugged, "Local butcher… place called GobblinItUp…" Sam shrugged.

"I think it's a place we're gonna need to check out in the morning," Dean sneered, his face a crumpled mask of frustration.

"Dean it's cool man… it's okay… everything else is still good…" Sam nodded as his big brother carried the salt laden carcass into the kitchen and pulled the electric carving knife out of its drawer and plugged it in.

"Go start a fire in the back yard…" he ordered and watched Sam shake his head even as he did as instructed.

Twenty minutes later Dean carried a heaping roaster laden with parts out to the backyard where Sam was tending and nurturing the fire he'd been instructed to make.

"Man this sucks…" he sighed as Dean tossed piece after piece onto the fire.

"I know man… How do you think I feel? That was a good hustle that paid for this thing…" Dean sighed even as he dumped the last of the parts into the roaring flames.

"I know… dude I'm sorry… I know how much putting all this together meant to you… to both of us…" Sam nodded placing a hand onto his big brothers shoulder and squeezing.

Dean nodded, "On a positive note… at least we've got a boatload of rabbit food for you to chow on…"

Sam smiled and wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulder, "I think there's some hot dogs in the freezer too, so… between the green bean casserole, the stuffing, mashed potatoes and salad I think we're good to go…" he nodded.

"Sammy…" Dean started as they turned back toward the house.

"Yeah?"

"Next time you're tempted to order a Thanksgiving turkey from late night T.V…. don't okay?" he sighed.

Sam nodded, "Yeah… I'm guessing we'll get a fresh one next year man… seriously."

Dean nodded grinning, "Good idea… and by the way… you can make the stuffing next year… that stuff's a bitch…"

--

end…

Happy Thanksgiving… Early.

sifi


End file.
